


The Thorn Has Its Rose

by ryl00



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryl00/pseuds/ryl00
Summary: KOTOR LSM Revan. Enosh Polo thought his troubles were finally over when he finally tracked down the missing Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan on Taris. But they were just beginning... [Originally posted to FFN in 2013]





	1. Chapter 1

Brejik’s lifeless body collapsed onto the dusty floor of the swoop track pavilion, joining the corpses of his ill-fated guards.

The Jedi Bastila Shan stood above his body, the blood-tipped blade staff still twirling in her expert hands, her eyes large, the rush of the recent battle coloring her pale cheeks.

The staff came to an abrupt halt, and she knelt down besides the cooling body of the former leader of the Black Vulkars.  Distaste visible on her determined face, she rifled efficiently through his clothes, pulling out a long, thin metal cylinder.  Discarding the blade staff, she rose to her feet and pressed a switch on the cylinder.  Burning blades of yellow light beamed forth from either end.

While she studied her lightsaber, Enosh Polo holstered his still-smoking blaster rifle and studied her.  _So this is the famous Bastila Shan, the Jedi so feared by the Sith that they’ve blockaded an entire planet and the billions who live here all in their quest to capture her._   His eyes were drawn to her, the mysterious pull he’d felt from her in his dreams all the more magnified now that she stood here before him, in the flesh and blood.

She couldn’t have been much more than twenty or so, several years his junior.  Threads of dark brown hair had escaped from the tight confines of her braids during the chaos of the battle, to frame her beautiful face.  Large, clear gray eyes studied the glow of the lightsaber in detail, absorbed in looking for flaws or defects as she spun the weapon slowly before her.

The vision flashed before his eyes again.  Her pale, resolute face was dimly illuminated by the glow of the drawn lightsaber she held upright before her, as she strode through the shadowy corridors of that spaceship.

The eyes suddenly turned to him, and her lips pressed themselves together in disapproval.

“Are you done yet?” she asked, her voice crisp, as she deactivated the lightsaber and put it away.

“What?”  Belatedly, he realized he’d been gawking at her like some callow teen.

“Did the swoop racing leave you hard of hearing or something?  I said, are you done yet?”

He hadn’t seen her aboard the _Endar Spire_ , but everyone he’d talked to who had had never failed to mention two things: her breathtaking beauty, and her cold aloofness.  _Obviously, they hadn’t been exaggerating on either count._

Curbing his initial annoyance at her combativeness, he reminded himself that she’d just spent several days as the helpless captive of the ruthless Black Vulkars.  _After what she’s probably been through, she’s bound to be upset.  I know I’d be!_

He was a soldier, and this was a mission.  If he could stay cool under heavy fire, he could certainly face down an angry woman.  “Take it easy, Jedi,” he said aloud, instinctively lifting his hands palm outward to show he meant her no harm.  “I’m here to rescue you.  I’m—“

“Yes, I know who you are, Enosh Polo.”

He stopped, surprised.  “I’m _famous_?”

She seemed amused by his confusion.  “Hardly,” she said.  She knelt down again, pulling a pack out from underneath the dead Brejik.  “As a matter of principle, I always study the files of all the personnel under my command.”

“Under _your_ command?”

She looked up sharply at this.  “That’s right, Polo.  This is a joint Republic-Jedi mission you signed up for.  And is that how you normally address your commanding officer?”

The cool, professional soldier within him had had enough.  “Commanding officer?  All I see around here is a Jedi with an _honorary_ rank, who looks like she just worked a shift down at the cantina.”

She looked down at herself, then back at him, her face red.  Angrily, she nearly ripped the pack open. She pulled some clothes out, then threw the pack at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, deftly catching the hurled pack before it could brain him.

“Turn around, Polo,” she said, rising to her feet, whipping the folded clothes out.

“We don’t have time for this!”

“We most certainly do,” she said stiffly, walking toward a recessed alcove set in the wall that separated the pavilion from the spectator stands above.  “I am a Jedi; I can’t go around dressed like this.”

“It would certainly do wonders for recruiting new Jedi to the cause, I’m sure,” he replied, following her.

She glared back at him, apparently unwilling to dignify his quip with a response.

“And besides,” he continued, “I haven’t spent the last few days risking life and limb to rescue you, just to end up sitting around while you play dress up!”

She stopped and spun around at this, her eyes narrowing.  “You?  Rescuing me?  _Hardly_!  Let us examine this claim in more detail, shall we?  First, if you hadn’t noticed while you were busy crashing into walls in your swoop bike, I sprung _myself_ out of that neural collar and cage.”

“Crashing into walls?  I won the Taris championship!  _And_ your freedom!”

“Yes, congratulations on flying in a circle faster than anyone else,” she said dismissively.  “I can hardly keep my enthusiasm for your feat in check.

“Second,” she continued, without giving him a chance to reply, “I won my freedom with my _own_ hands, by taking care of that... that _odious_ Brejik by myself.”

“And I suppose the rest of his gang just sat around watching the two of you fight?”

She looked around at the crumpled bodies of Brejik’s associates.

“Your assistance as a distraction was, of course, not unwelcome,” she said.

“A _distraction_?!”

“And finally,” she continued, “it can hardly be called a rescue when we’re still stuck here.”

“Stuck here?  Are you blind or something?  Yes, the blast doors may have closed off all the exits, but we still have Gadon’s swoop bike!”

“Where?”

“Over there!”

But over there, where there should have been the sleek swoop bike, was nothing but an empty bike bay.

“Blast it!  Someone must have stolen it in all the confusion!”  When the blaster bolts had started flying, all the other racers had quickly taken to their bikes and left.  He’d been too busy to keep track of Gadon’s bike.

“At a gathering of swoop bike gangs and the criminal underworld... what are the odds!  Did ‘keep the bike key’ not make it into your rescue plan?”

_Is she really that important to the Republic?  Among the quadrillions in the Republic, surely someone else has this vaunted Battle Meditation?  I’d rather hunt them down myself, than endure this any longer!_

Forcing himself to ignore the Jedi for the time being, he looked around.  Blast doors had come up during the fighting, closing off the few exits from the pavilion and trapping a few unfortunate spectators and track workers who hadn’t been fast enough to leave.  He could see their bodies lying next to the blast doors, victims of the Black Vulkars.  To one side, where the swoop bike had been, was the large expanse of the track.  There was a significant dropoff from the pavilion to the first trench of the track.  It was open to the sky, or at least what counted as the sky down here in the Taris undercity.  Far above he could see the dull gray sheen of the enormous metallic ceiling that covered the entire undercity, and upon which the privileged upper city lay.

To the other side, above a short wall, were the spectator stands.  They’d been filled during the races, but had cleared with amazing speed when the shooting had started.  A clear shield that extended above the wall separated the stands from the pavilion even more, but stray blaster bolts from the recent firefight had shattered it in several places, making it possible to clamber up from the pavilion level into the stands.  Scanning along the empty benches, he didn’t see any obvious exits or passageways.  _But it may be a possibility…_

He grabbed the comlink from his belt and activated it.  “Carth?  Carth?  Are you there?” he called into it.

Nothing but static.  No surprise; reception in the undercity was problematic at best.

“Carth?” Bastila asked.  “Commander Carth Onasi?”

He walked over to the control console.  _Perhaps there was a way to bring down the doors?_

She followed him.  “Are you ignoring me?”

“Kind of busy right now,” he said, scanning over the keys.  “If you can’t be civil, I don’t have the time to spare to argue with you.  _Commander_.”

He glanced up at her.  Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows furrowed, but she kept quiet.

_Good enough for me._

“Yes, that Carth,” he responded to her earlier question, while bringing up displays on the console screen.  _Perhaps there was a way to bypass the security from here?_ But all he saw were racing schedules and betting lines.

“He and I escaped from the _Endar Spire_ right after you, tracking your escape pod on its way down here to Taris,” he continued, while cycling through menus, fruitlessly searching for maintenance or security options.  “We’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“Just you two?” she asked.

“We’ve also got a couple of locals on the team:  a Twi’lek guide by the name of Mission Vao; and her friend Zaalbar, some Wookiee muscle who thinks he owes me a life-debt.”

“And what about Athene?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Athene Sil-Velden.  My Jedi companion aboard the _Endar Spire_.”

Suddenly, he recalled the Jedi who’d fallen right in front of him, in the corridors of the doomed ship.

He looked up to tell her the bad news, but she must have already seen something in his face, for hers suddenly blanched.

“No...”

All the lingering annoyance he felt at her abrasiveness to this point suddenly disappeared at the quiet disbelief in her voice, as he saw the life seem to drain right out from her.

“I’m... I’m sorry, Bastila,” he said softly.

Her pained eyes burning, she stared off to the side.

“We lost a lot of good people,” he continued somberly, thinking back to Trask, and all the others he’d known only a short while during his brief service aboard the _Endar Spire_.  “As far as I know, Carth, you, and I are the only survivors.”

“How did it happen?” she asked hoarsely.  “How did she die?”

“She’d just cut down a Sith, right before my eyes, when a circuit in the wall behind her overloaded and exploded,” he said.  “I hurried over to try and help, but... it was too late.”

She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and whispered a few words.

Enosh returned to studying the console, giving her what little privacy he could to grieve.

After a moment, he noticed her by his side, looking at what he was doing on the console.

“ _I_ was the one who should have gone back,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes staring unseeing at the console screens as they flickered, “to fight off the Sith and gather survivors for the escape pods.”

“What happened?”

“She and Carth would brook no argument from me.  I implored them to stop, but they forced me into that capsule.”

“You’re pretty important to the war effort,” he observed.  “They were just trying to protect you.”

“I’m tired of people dying for me,” she whispered.

“Hey!” called out a familiar voice.

Faster than he would have thought possible, Bastila’s lightsaber blazed to life as she brought it up.

Turning to look up into the spectator stands, he spotted the young Twi’lek girl Mission Vao scampering down toward them, waving her arms.

“Relax, that’s our guide,” he said to Bastila, while returning the Twi’lek’s wave.  “Mission.”

“A... a child?” Bastila asked, incredulous, lowering her still-lit lightsaber slightly.

Reaching the edge of the spectator stands, Mission leapt sprightly down onto the pavilion.

“You hired a _child_ as a guide, Polo?!” Bastila asked in disbelief, as Mission jogged up to them.

The happy smile on Mission’s face darkened.  “What?  Enosh, I thought you trusted me!  What are you doing, going behind my back to hire someone?  If you didn’t trust me, why didn’t you tell me!  Is it that lousy Transhodan Veq?  He’d turn his own mother in to the Sith for a credit or two.”  And then her brain caught up to her mouth.  “Hey... wait a minute...!”

Ignoring the Twi’lek, Bastila spun on Enosh.  “Polo,” she snapped, “this is very irresponsible of you, endangering a child like this!”

“Look here, lady.  I can take care of myself!  No one endangers me but _me_!  Got that?”

_What have I done to deserve this?_

He sighed.  “Mission, this is Bastila Shan.  Bastila, this is Mission Vao.”

Mission looked the taller Jedi up and down.  “So you’re the Jedi everyone’s been looking for, huh?” she said nonchalantly.

Bastila deactivated her lightsaber.  “Yes, normally having one of these around does signify that,” she said crisply.

“The Sith have them, too, you know.”

Her eyes glittered but the Jedi didn’t respond.

“No wonder the Sith haven’t found you yet,” the Twi’lek continued.  “You don’t look anything like what’s in all the planet-wide bulletins.”

“How so?” she asked warily.

“Well, the pictures aren’t very flattering.  I mean, you nose, for one thing.  It looks a lot bigger in the holovids… although, come to think of it, in this light…”

“Are we all finished now?” Bastila asked coolly.

“Mission,” Enosh cut in before the Twi’lek could snark some more, “I thought I told you and the others to stay out of this.”  Gadon had put it in no uncertain terms that the Black Vulkars wouldn’t allow him to be accompanied here by any Hidden Beks or their known allies.

She left off confronting the Jedi to look at him sheepishly.  “Actually, it’s just me,” she said.

“Oh.  Come to cheer me on?”

“You better believe it!” she said enthusiastically, a bright smile lighting her face.

“And?” Bastila asked.

“What?”

“There’s something else,” the Jedi said, “something you’re not telling us…”

“That’s just nonsense,” the Twi’lek laughed.

Enosh looked at the Jedi, who’d closed her eyes.

“Oh, all right!” Mission suddenly said.  “You Jedi and your mind reading tricks!  Zayne was never like this!”  She paused, then: “I was betting on the swoop bike championship, okay!”

Bastila’s eyes snapped open.  “Gambling is _not_ proper behavior for a young woman,” she admonished.

An uneasy feeling came over Enosh.  “Mission, where did you get the credits for that bet?”

“Don’t worry, Enosh.  I put it all on you!  Which reminds me---“

She suddenly encircled him in a surprisingly tight hug.  “Thank you, oh thank you for making me a fortune!  I mean _us_!  Us!”

He looked at Bastila, and was surprised to see what looked like wry amusement on the Jedi’s face at his predicament

“Who was the bookie?” he asked, in danger of tripping from Mission’s jumps of joy.

“Good old Garek,” Mission said, grinning up at him now.  “About as honest as they come.  But boy, did he mess up the odds on this one... you were paying 100-to-1!  Can you believe that, 100-to-1?  Even old Harthum and his beat-up trash compactor of a bike was going at 50-to-1! Finally, I can get off this trash heap of a planet!”

“Have I seen this Garek before?”

“Maybe,” she said, finally releasing him, to skip away lightly.  “Big old Ithorian, green-skinned, likes to wear those flashy gold chains around his neck.  Silly red shoes.”  She twirled slightly, arms outspread.  “I think I’ll hit Coruscant first.  I’ve heard that it’s the jewel of the Republic.  Or maybe Kashyyyk.  Big Z says he’s been exiled, but I think he misses his home.”

“Is that Garek over there?”

Excitedly, she turned to look where he was pointing.  “What?  You mean behind that giant plasteel girder?”

Bastila cleared her throat.  “I think he means... underneath it.”

Mission was stunned, her mouth gaping open at the sight of Garek’s unmistakable red shoes poking out limply from underneath the giant plastisteel girder that had crashed onto the pavilion.

“You have _got_ to be joking me!” she exploded, running over to the dead Ithorian bookie.  “My fortune finally turns, and then _this_ happens!  I have _got_ to be the unluckiest person in the Galaxy!  It’s a conspiracy, to ensure that I never leave this hellhole of a planet!”  Mission launched a vigorous, swift kick to the plasteel girder, which remained silently unmoved.

“Where... where did you find her?” Bastila asked in wonder.

“It’s a long story,” Enosh sighed, wondering if he should point out to the enraged Twi’lek that if Garek could talk, he’d probably object to her ‘unluckiest’ statement.

“Hey, Enosh!” Mission called out.  “Can you help me lift this girder?”

“I think it’s too late for—“ Bastila began.

“Well, of course it is!” Mission snapped. “I’m not blind! I just want to see if he has my credits on him.”

“Don’t you mean our credits?” Enosh asked.

“You can’t desecrate the dead like that!” Bastila said in shock.

Mission paused in her efforts to lift one end of the massive beam.  “Desecrate? How’s that worse than what a certain someone did to plant most of these corpses on the floor in the first place?!”

“They were murderous, villainous blackhearts who deserved their fate!” Bastila retorted. “Yet I enjoyed none of that.”

“Yeah, I could really tell that you were unhappy.”

“Everyone, let’s just cool down, okay?” Enosh interjected.  “We’ve still got to get out of here.”

Bastila glared at him, but turned away from Mission.

He walked over to the Twi’lek. “Are you okay, Mission?”

She struggled one last time with the girder, then sighed and pushed away from it.  “Yeah, I suppose so,” she said, eyes downcast.

“You’ll get them next time,” he said, patting her on the upper arm.

Mission looked up at him, a sad smile on her face.  “Easy come, easy go, huh?”

“There’s always tomorrow.”  _Assuming we get out of here today._

“What would I have done will all those credits anyway?” the Twi’lek continued.  “Opened up a bank account?  Me?”  She laughed.

“How did you get in here, anyway?  Came in with the rest of the crowds?  Is there any way out of here from up there?”

“Yeah, there should be,” she said, her mood lightening up.  “A few doorways coming in, all guarded, but I’m sure in all the excitement everyone ran away. I was, uh, trying to avoid notice when everyone stampeded out, and got pinned in the rush.  Hang on; I’ll go up and check.”

With the boundless energy of youth, she scampered away, easily hoisting herself up into the stands.

He watched her go, then turned to see Bastila looking oddly at him.

“What is it?” he asked, walking past her to go to the console again.

“Isn’t she a bit on the young side for you, Polo?”

He paused.  “Afraid of a little competition, are we?”

He turned to see her spluttering.  “ _Competition_?!  She’s just a-- that’s the most _ridiculous_ \--I mean, you really have to be _arrogant_ to think that I--!”

Her protestations were suddenly drowned out by a high-pitched whining sound, rising rapidly from the background hum of the undercity.

“Hover cars approaching,” he said to her.

“I think it prudent that we leave this place,” she urged.  “Now.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Quick!” Enosh said, pointing to the stands above them.  “Follow Mission!”

Bastila looked at the shattered section of wall through which the Twi’lek had so recently left… and ran the opposite way.

He looked at his finger.  “Is this thing not working?”

“I can’t leave this behind!” she said in explanation, scooping up her clothes from where she’d let them fall earlier, by the control console.

“Come again, Commander?”

“I--we Jedi have our dignity to maintain,” she explained, running over to pick up the pack she’d hurled at him earlier.

“Congratulations, you’ll be the snappiest dresser in Sith prison!” he said, running over to wait for her at the gap in the clear wall separating the pavilion from the stands above. “Perhaps if I’m lucky, they’ll let me wash that for you on laundry day.  Now hurry up, will you?!”  The whining sound of the hover cars was increasing; at any moment, they’d appear over the surrounding walls.

“Levity is not appropriate at a time like this, Polo!” she shot at him, cramming the clothes into the pack, then swinging it onto her back as she raced over.

“She said while risking death to rescue her _clothes_ from the Sith!”

If the glare from her eyes had had any power, he’d have been burned to a crisp right then and there.

“Up you go!” he said, waiting to give her a boost up.

“Unnecessary!” she said, leaping into the air well before reaching him and easily flying up through the gap in the glass.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, pulling himself up through the gap after her.

“Go back!” yelled Mission from above.  “Everything’s closed off up here!”

“Blast!” he muttered, dropping back down to the pavilion floor below.  _Now what?_

There was a brief gust of air and Bastila landed beside him.

A thought struck him.  “Can you jump over the walls?” he asked.  They were quite high, possibly six meters up, but otherwise open at the top.

She looked uncertainly at the walls.  “Possibly… but I don’t think I’d have much left for anything else.  And I couldn’t carry the both of you as well.”

“We’ll manage,” he said, as Mission dropped down from the stands and joined them.  “Give it a try.”

Her eyes hardened.  “I’m not leaving anyone behind again!” she said firmly.

“It’s you they’re after, not us!” he argued.

“Speak for yourself!” Mission interrupted.  “I’m not exactly on speaking terms with the authorities, you know. No one down here is.”

“Well then, just take Mission!” he continued, into the teeth of the Jedi’s stubborn silence.  “You said it yourself; she’s just a child!”

The look on her face changed; she wavered.  _Finally!_

“This is all your fault, you know,” she said, unhappily conceding the point.

“Yes, yes, we’ve been through this already.  So get moving already!”

Bastila placed a hand on Mission’s arm, but the Twi’lek shrugged her off.

“ _No!_ ” she said.  “I am _not_ going with Miss High-And-Mighty here!”

Bastila gasped, offended.

“Besides,” Mission continued, “Zaalbar would never forgive me if I left you alone like this!  And after everything you’ve done for the both of us!  What kind of ungrateful _schutta_ do you take me for, anyway?!”

“But you just told me—!“

She shook her head, turning away.

He turned to Bastila for help, but the Jedi was back to glaring angrily at him again.

_Again… what have I done to deserve this?!_

“Fine!  Anyone got any other ideas, then? Besides a futile last stand?” he added, seeing Bastila’s grip on her lightsaber tighten.

“Who mentioned anything about futile?” the Jedi replied coolly.

_She’s confident, I’ll give her that.  Hope that doesn’t get us all killed._

“What if it’s not the Sith coming?” Mission asked.

They looked at her.

“Yeah, right, forget I said that.  Wait a minute!”  She snapped her fingers.  “Blast vents under the track!”

“For the swoop bike exhaust!” Enosh said.

Mission was already on the go.  She raced over to the edge of the pavilion, and with nary a pause vaulted over and down, her blue lekku fluttering behind her.  Bastila leapt down afterwards, and he could feel the air gust about her Force-assisted jump.  He followed, hoping he remembered the depth of the track trenches correctly.

The swoop bike trenches were perhaps ten meters deep and fifteen meters wide.  The walls were almost vertical at the top, but their slope somewhat moderated down to the floor below, as there was no sharp right angle where the walls met the floor.

He slid down feet first, hoping the walls would curve below him soon enough to slow down his fall before he broke his legs.

An enormous explosion shook the pavilion floor above him, throwing him off balance.  His barely controlled skid became a wild tumble.

The world turned into a chaotic kaleidoscope as he crashed down.  He felt as if some unseen pugilist was raining blows down upon him from every direction, as he instinctively closed his eyes and tensed his body from the impacts.

And then a soft, warm blanket enfolded him, and an eerie quiet settled upon his ringing ears.  He ventured a peek through his eyes, and saw the dirty steel plates of the trench slowly coming up to meet him.

_The Jedi!_

She stood by the end of the deep trench, near the entrance to a short, shadowy tunnel, watching him intently as he drifted down.  He spotted a flicker of blue, and saw Mission hunched over in the tunnel behind her.

About a meter off the ground, the air blanket about him suddenly disappeared, and he fell unceremoniously the rest of the way.

Bastila gasped, running over to him.

“Still new to this Jedi stuff, are you?” Mission commented dryly.

“It’s okay,” Enosh grunted, trying to shake off the jarring impact. “I’m—“

With surprising speed, she knelt down and clapped her right hand over his mouth.

It was a soft hand, he noticed with a strange clarity. He could feel the calluses from what must have been years of weapons training, and a core of sinewy strength in her slender fingers, but…soft nevertheless.

Holding a finger to her lips, she looked up. His eyes followed.

Smoke belched forth fitfully in gray clouds above.  _They must have blasted the doors open from the outside._

From out of the mist emerged three armored Sith soldiers, rifle blasters in hand, walking up to the edge of the pavilion floor.

_Blast!_   He and Bastila were still in plain sight, right below the soldiers.  Their heads were turning, their gazes fixed afar, scanning the vast expanse of the race trenches before them.  A single glance down, though, and they would be spotted!

She lifted her hand from his mouth, and he saw her fingers twitch before him.

Without even pausing, the trio above, their eyes still focused on the distance, turned as one, in perfect synchronization, and walked back out of sight.

He hadn’t flinched when she’d used the Force to leap higher than normal, or arrest his fall, or deflect blaster bolts during their firefight with the Black Vulkars.  But seeing her invisibly touch the minds of those Sith, making them turn away… made his skin crawl.  _It just doesn’t seem… right…_

“Get over here!” Mission whispered, gesturing from the shadowy tunnel.

Bastila helped him to his feet and they scrambled quickly over to where Mission crouched.

“What was that?” Enosh asked the Jedi, once they’d reached the relative safety of the tunnel. The three of them knelt close together, the better to talk without raising their voices much, just inside the tunnel entrance, out of sight of the ledge above.

“We Jedi can sometimes distract our enemies,” she said softly.  “But only small groups, and only momentarily.”

The echoes of his earlier unease were still there, but fading away.

Her eyes looked past him.  “I sense more up there.  Many more.”

He risked a quick glance out the tunnel and up.  More Sith were now visible above, milling about.  Searching.

“At least ten up there now, and probably more we can’t see from down here,” he said to the other two. “How’d they get here so soon?”

“The swoop bike championship,” Mission answered.  “It’s a really big deal in the gambling dens all over Taris.  As soon as the vidcams showcased this year’s prize—“

“Me.”

“Yeah.  It must have sent every Sith in the vicinity rushing down here, looking for this place.”

The ever-present whine of the approaching hover cars increased, and Enosh felt the air stir.  “Well, they certainly found it,” he said.  “More company coming.”

The stirring air picked up as the hover cars arrived overhead.  The reflected blast from their repulsorlifts blew air down the trenches and into their tunnel, forcing them deeper, whether they willed it or not.

“It sounds like the whole Sith garrison of the planet is out there right now!” yelled Enosh over the wind that now howled past them.

“Follow me!” Mission said, turning her back on the whipping winds and heading deeper into the tunnel.

“Wait!  Do you know where this tunnel leads?” Bastila asked.

The Twi’lek shrugged.  “Away from them!”

“Good enough for me,” Enosh said.  “Lead on!”

 


End file.
